


Money Please

by Stormthecat6



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Choose a Trunks, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Vegeta doesn't apologize much, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29969697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormthecat6/pseuds/Stormthecat6
Summary: “Papa? Can I ask you a question?” Your brat opened his mouth for the umpteenth time within the past hour. It seemed to you that he would always be babbling to some nonsense whenever you finished work. You sighed in frustration as you placed your book down on your lap.“What is it, brat?” He tried to cover his fidgeting but your combat-experienced eyes caught the motion. Pitifully scared. Nothing like his proud, battle-ready warrior bloodline.“Papa, how much money do you earn an hour?” You scowl. Was the purple-haired brat trying to pull some sort of prank on you? You could feel your rage growing from the attack on your pride. Did that woman not teach her brat to respect you? Likely. He probably got that disrespect from his mother. She had trouble with respect.
Relationships: Future Trunks Briefs & Vegeta, Trunks Briefs & Vegeta (Dragon Ball)
Kudos: 3





	Money Please

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first DB fic, and it’s short (Trunks might be OOC, idk enough to tell). Nonetheless, I hope you can enjoy it!

“Papa? Can I ask you a question?” Your brat opened his mouth for the umpteenth time within the past hour. It seemed to you that he would always be babbling to some nonsense whenever you finished work. You sighed in frustration as you placed your book down on your lap.

“What is it, brat?” He tried to cover his fidgeting but your combat-experienced eyes caught the motion. Pitifully scared. Nothing like his proud, battle-ready warrior bloodline.

“Papa, how much money do you earn an hour?” You scowl. Was the purple-haired brat trying to pull some sort of prank on you? You could feel your rage growing from the attack on your pride. Did that woman not teach her brat to respect you? Likely. He probably got that disrespect from his mother. She had trouble with respect.

“What does that mean to you? That is irrelevant to you!” You raise your book to your face to ignore him. One moment of peace passes, you watch him from the corner of your eyes as he stands there and huffs. You make sure to keep your internal agony off your face as you search the room. You pinch between your eyes as you remember the woman mentioning something about clothing and ‘ladies’ bonding night’. Why? Just why?

“Please tell me. I want to know.” You glance down at him before rolling your eyes. Mentally going over whether it was worth it. You knew you earned very little, being an ex-convict does that to your life, the only reason you are living in this house was because of you and your dedication to the long hours. That woman helped. You hated what the woman helping you did to your pride, but it was still advantageous to live here. Even if it made you have these few interactions with… that mistake.

“20.00 dollars.” Crestfallen and disappointed, the purple-haired brat nodded thoughtfully like he had a mind as he looked down. Suddenly, you felt like he was categorizing you as weak. You tried to quell your anger, repeating don’t rage, don’t rage, woman talked to you about this, you gotta try. It felt like the boy had expectations that you were supposedly supposed to achieve. You hated expectations.

Then, boldly, he looks up with his hand out towards you.

“Papa, please lend me $10.00?” The rage boiled. You snapped back at the brat.

“If you desired the knowledge of my salary simply to spoil you more with some useless toys then walk back to your room and go to bed! Your mother and those humans already spoil you enough you ungrateful brat!” You point to his bedroom filled with toys the brat would always whine about.

“Go reflect on your actions. Try to use your little mind to think long and hard about why you’re so selfish. I already work long and hard enough each day, I have no time for your childish games!” You breathed deeply and quickly from the effort into the scolding. You look down at the purple-haired brat.

He was staring wordlessly at you. You could see the tears he was holding back and it made you disgusted. Did the brat never have a scolding? Did the brat seriously believe that the little crying puppy-eyes scam would work on him? An ex-soldier and ex-criminal?

You roll your eyes before pointing at the door with your head.

“Well? Didn’t you hear me?” He gulped. He shuffled his feet dejectedly as he headed back to his room. You sit back down and try to read, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach that the little muffled whimpers and yelling from the boy inflicted you. You decided that you didn’t like it. 

It was similar to what infected you the first time you comforted that woman, after that dumb scar-face (not that his scar was a mark of courage and a warrior’s badge, scarface's scar was a disgusting badge) cheated on her. You had tried to have a normal verbal spar with her but she was just… quiet. You didn’t like it so you fixed it.

You believe the woman’s mother -- Panchy -- had called it “love”. She was wrong about that, you didn’t love someone. You were attracted to the blue-beauty, yes, but you already concluded that attraction for the woman did not equate to having the infection called love for the woman. You didn’t love the brat, and you obviously didn’t have an attraction. Nope, definitely no, that was wrong on so many levels. You’d rather die and lose to Kakarot before you ever had love.

You knew what you thought of him (a disgraceful mistake) but not what you felt towards the boy as a whole. You hadn’t even gotten to your confusion on why the boy was asking you for money when there were better options.

You walk away towards the indoor gym just downstairs and train for only a few minutes before going back upstairs. The bug buzzing through your head was just too distracting and to continue training would’ve proven futile. The mosquitos in your head just kept doubting whether or not you were too harsh earlier. You’d seen what too much could do with Freiza, but you’ve also seen carefree soldiers getting shot in front of you.

It was time you faced whatever this is head-on in battle with a strategy like the warrior, tactician, and prince you are.

You quietly walked over to the door and peeked in.

The brat was on the bed, laying on his side. You notice the brat sleeping soundly, his blanket rising and falling with each breath. You paused, suddenly unsure if he was awake.

Was he asleep? Should you wake him up?

You cursed under your breath as excuses started popping into your mind. You didn’t want to cower again.

“Papa? What are you doing here? I thought you were training.” The boy had gotten up and was now sitting under the blankets.

“I was, I was angry at the day. Now move over.” He complies and you sit down on the edge of the bed. The bed’s soft and comfortable but it just makes you feel awkward, you still prefer sleeping on the floor than the bed.

“Papa?” You ignore Trunks as you take out a $10 bill from your wallet. You place it on the bed. He’s watching you, watching you with big surprised eyes. You pay him no mind, he should be able to get what you’re doing. You get up and walk towards the door when a voice stops you in your tracks.

“Thank you, Papa, but wait. Please” You stand still, hand on the handle as you glance at the boy in bed through the corner of your eye. He’s searching for something in his pillowcase. You’re slightly annoyed but you decide to see what he’s planning on doing.

He pulls out a 5 dollar bill and dumps 2 two-dollar coins and a one-dollar coin. Your eye twitches at the sight, if he had money then why ask you? Was it some sort of attack on his pride? You don’t speak and the boy is counting the money he now has.

He looks up at you, you glare back. It’s obvious to both of you that you’re asking what he’s doing with the money. The glare doesn’t seem to do anything to the boy, instead he brightens and smiles. The dumb boy.

He gets out of his bed and walks towards you.

He grabs your pant leg and holds out the money.

“Because I didn’t have enough. Now I do, Mama wouldn’t give me any money.” You distantly think a ‘so she took my advice as he takes a deep breath. “Papa, now that I have $20, can I buy an hour of your time? Please come home early tomorrow so that we and mom can all have a family dinner.”

Your eyes widened at the request as your brain short-circuited. What the world was the boy talking about? A family dinner? A distant memory from long ago between Tarble and your own parents eating silently at the table came forth and faded. A small weight jumps up and down in front of you.

“Papa? May you, please? Mama’s always sad when you aren’t there for dinner.” You blink as a puddle of guilt soaks you. You’ve been a terrible mate if you’re making her sad. You nod, gently wrapping a hand around his head and press him closer. You chortle your consent, not trusting yourself to actually talk without feeling emotional.

He grins and hugs back. You think they’re both disgusting and pitiful, but you don’t think you’d mind doing this more often. It feels odd… but nice. Nice in a way you never believed you’d ever feel.

“Now go to bed, brat.”

“Aw, man!” Maybe not, the brat is still a brat.

And if the woman squealed and hugged you tightly with a bright smile on her face the next day when you came into the dining room, well that was one good thing that came out of life.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a little story I heard on YT, just thought I wanted to place some Dragon Ball characters in and try 2nd person. Hope you enjoyed this little short!


End file.
